One Feather
by Xaviere Jade
Summary: Complete! Here's the day Sarah thought would never come. Response to PikalaCynique's challenge. Sarah gets a message and a gift. Then her whole life changes forever.
1. Summons

One Feather

Here's the Day You Hoped Would Never Come…

An answer to the beautifully haunting challenge:

http://pika-la-cynique. found it after reading CoffeeWench's lovely response. I couldn't get it out of my head and woke up at night with a plot. Even though I swore I wouldn't start anything until after Persephone was finished, and probably not even then…well…

Prologue

Without precedent, or pop, or pomp, or circumstance, one cream-white feather floated serenely from the smooth glass to her desk. Sarah barely caught the soft caress of a landing in her peripheral vision. A crystal sphere, undoubtedly _his_, followed smoothly, gliding out of the glass and dropping to her desk. It glowed, illuminating her Biology homework, the pictures of her family, and Ticonderoga pencils, all newly pearlescent in the dim dorm. Unable to ignore the offering, Sarah turned sharply over her shoulder, staring first at the silky feather, then into the fathomless depths of the crystal, then at the mirror.

Her own wide eyes stared back at her, newly mismatched, or perhaps merely aglow with crystal light. His uneven eyes blinked behind the green ones reflected in the glass. For a second, she blamed the aberration on some sudden movement in her roommate's half of the little chamber, before remembering her privileged, single-housed, third year status. Living alone thrilled and terrified her, but oh, so much less than _he_ did.

She blinked once, found she couldn't blink again. Her eyes no longer obeyed her commands. Transfixed, her irises stung with foreboding beauty. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine. They were never voluntary anymore.

As she stared, the glass rippled, bending, and doubling in the light. An alien, golden reflection merged with the slim college girl's. She hadn't seen _him_ in five years; now, she saw them blended together. Sarah tried to turn around, to glance behind her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from her pale doppelganger. Their lips parted, inhaling with chillingly deliberate elegance. Her own lips rounded to form the words.

"Sarah…" Her name, even on her own tongue, sounded as it always had when he spoke: sibilant, royal, uncannily uncommon, and far better than she deserved. "If you hear us, speaking now, together at last for one fleeting instant, then know that I am dead. If my sad, somewhat pathetic mortality comes as a shock to you, well," an indistinguishable eyebrow arched in his sweetest, most ironic way, "it hardly did to me."

Sarah couldn't gasp. She couldn't breathe.

"And if you are hearing my message tonight, for my death must have come as shadows fell, then know that I died without a more substantial will or last testament then this. Otherwise, I would never deign to ask your favor," they shook their head. The image wobbled, sending the eerie glow bouncing around the room. Faint light fell on a toy bear, striped collegiate sheets, the to-do list, Toby's forehead taped to the wall, and the eyes of Broadway's indefatigable Cats. Caught in the kaleidoscope, Sarah saw the exposed curve of her neck separate from the king, dark in the dip of her collarbone, lavender bra strap. The image resolved. She had hoped the vestige of herself would stay. As one, they set their mouth in a thin line before continuing in his words, half threatening now even in a tickling whisper. "You left my realm quite equal to my favorite game, not to me, mind, but to the one of the many games I run. You established your own power, my sweet Sarah. I envy you that.

"Now, my throne lies vacant. My kingdom will fall without a strong and capable leader. I only wish I could guide you, but wishes are for fools," their soft, nearly plaintive voice hardened. "As you have come closest to besting me in any form, you are my natural, indeed only possible, successor. I marked you for my queen long ago. I have no children," she could hear their shrug, "another wasted wish. You could not have run had I gotten the chance to seek you. It matters little now. The Labyrinth needs a Goblin Queen, with or without her King." They could feel her fighting against the shock, against the responsibility and the disbelief. Blended, they laughed, low in their throats. "Set aside your doubts Principessa. My final crystal, your first creation, will show the way, allow you to travel freely, and show you once and for all, that you have no choice should your friends and my kingdom not follow in my untimely fate. I am sorry, on so many counts, but life is never fair, regardless of realm." They bit out a masculine laugh. "I congratulate you on my death." Together for one more fleeting instant, they nodded, unbelieving and unsympathetic, yet united.

But his image floated away, sifting through hers like wet sand in a sieve. Her neck and face returned to themselves, but their reappearance gave Sarah less pleasure, less comfort, than she expected. A high hovering sigh escaped her reclaimed lips. As the last of their souls separated, a ghost hand caressed her chin, thumb to the curve, in delicately masculine tenderness she never dreamed of feeling. His breath fluttered against her forehead before his presence dissipated. His crystal burst. The pieces swept from the room on his breeze.

Without any forethought or beaconing, the air in her fingers melted into mist, into magic. It swirled and formed matter of its own accord, ignorant of Newton and old philosophers, suddenly solid and heavy in her palm. Gasping, Sarah dropped the orb on her desk. Like his, the glass sphere merely clinked, rolling to stop next to the feather just as if nothing had happened at all. It illuminated her room just like it's predecessor, utterly indistinguishable.

She merely stared, hands loose at her sides. The tears that wanted to congeal in her eyes wouldn't form. His eyes had left the glass. Only her dorm room, the guiding gifts, and her wide, troubled pupils reflected back in the inky stillness.

x x x x

Sarah wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep, another mixed-blessings of her new single room. She only remembered staring into the dinged mirror, waiting for an answer to appear on the reflective surface behind the glass. Perhaps she dreamed of watching too. Of course, no answer came to her waking or dreaming mind.

Instead, she awoke in a crumpled heap, tangled in the four-pronged swivel desk chair. The crystal still shone on the desk, but sunlight illuminated the rest of her room through gaps in the pealing blinds. The orb looked like a child's toy sitting with the books and papers on her desk, thoroughly mundane by morning light. For a moment, Sarah convinced herself that she'd imagined the whole ordeal. She could never have conjured such a thing. Feeling silly, she extended her palm, focusing her mind. Nothing happened. But the initial crystal remained, undeniably present, undeniably aglow.

She tried to imagine the Labyrinth, locked away in her nightmares. She saw the worm, the hands, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, the fireys, the bog, the ball and the king. The king was dead.

Sarah glanced at the clock. Seven AM. An ungodly hour by college standards, but inherently one that was safe for magic. Summoning all her will, Sarah stood, stretched, and rubbed at her sore spots. She traced the hollow of her collar bone, glanced briefly around her room, and steadied her eyes on the mirror. Gingerly, she picked up the crystal.


	2. Arrival

Chapter 1

Author's Note: I've been sitting on this chapter for a long time to try and get the pacing right for the next chapters. However, my focus is now briefly on this story. My goal is to tell a complete tale in under ten short chapters. We'll see.

Arrival

Sarah felt her feet vanish, then her thighs, torso, and finally her head. She didn't have time to register the strange sensation, the buzzing in her ears, or even laugh at the way it tickled, before her feet drizzled back into existence.

Sarah landed in the throne room. Broken glass crunched under her slippers. Slowly, she opened her eyes, newly aware of how hard she had been squeezing them closed. For a moment, her vision swam, but her eyes quickly came to rest on that well-remembered throne. The curved bone seemed far too childish for such a man, she thought, mundanely natural and unaesthetic. Even imaging what to expect, the emptiness surprised her. But what could she compare the death of the king to anyway?

She swallowed against a sticky throat and looked around. Silence hung in the air, floating over the garbage littering the floor. Wooden beer kegs and scraps of dingy goblin life covered the floor just as she remembered from her brief sprint through the room. This time the trash came up to her ankles. She didn't want to know what poured into her slippers. Sarah kicked the shattered glass off her feet. Defiled and depraved, fine china, linens, and crystal goblets lay abandoned on the floor, like relics from the most perverse kind of revelry. Once-white handkerchiefs hid amongst the king's broken finery, poking out like mundane tissues, tossed away after one use. Had his subjects cried for him? Wept bitter tears? Or had a party on his death bed? Certainly, she hadn't liked the king, but she respected his power from afar. She hoped they hadn't danced, light-footed and joyful, on his slow-cooling grave.

"You's came," a gruff voice interrupted, slicing into her diffident eulogy. Hesitantly, Hoggle crossed the junk-covered floor, picking his way around the broken bottles.

Sarah wrapped her arms around him as if they had never separated. Not a dream, she chanted to herself, not a dream. Aloud she said, "Of course I came."

Hoggle grunted and shrugged her off. "He didn't think yous would."

Her hand retreated to his shoulder. The corners of his mouth curved up slightly. Sarah paused. "I had to see if it was true. His message…he said…what happened?"

Hoggle shook his head, gesturing her to the nearby throne. "Nobody really knows."

"No one?" Tentatively, Sarah sat at the base, not daring take the raised chair. Her curiosity tickled.

"No one your Majesty." Her friend swept a low bow. Hidden in his tone, Sarah caught the traces of another royal and his old way of speaking.

She sprung to her feet, feeling a shamefully immature blush rising in her cheeks. "Don't you dare!"

"I's has to. Better to get used to it."

Slowly, Sarah sank back down, leaning against the seat. "So it is true." Above gray-green eyes, her brows knitted together. She paused, thinking of the right question. "What happened? What do you know?"

Hoggle took a deep breath and let out half a sigh. He counted on his knobby fingers. "He called for me in the last days. I's been biding my time, down in the garden ya know, afraid any minute he'd spring downs my neck for treason, but holding…holding me ground."

Despite herself, Sarah smiled. "I'm proud of you."

"I's heard the rumors before. That he was ill. His kind hardly ever sicken, but it's horrible for them when they do. But it'sa happened before without being a big deal."

"He got sick?" Her insides went numb.

"For weeks and months. Squabbling with the high king, fought a duel, at least so some gossip, and upset….they say he was upset about…about you."

Sarah's eyes fell to her hands, clasped open on her lap. Although she knew little of palmistry, she found herself staring at her rocky, chained lifeline, and the curved crease for love, constantly broken. If Hoggle the truth, then she'd be blessed and cursed with a kingdom she didn't understand, without her family, and with unknown powers. Cursed, and maybe blessed too. If hands held the answers to mysteries…well, she had never seen his hands and she never wanted to, then or now. She pursed her lips, torn between confusion and sadness. "I'm sorry, but I can't pity him."

Hoggle guffawed. The sound reverberated hollowly in the empty room. "Nobody asking ya to."

Sarah pursed her lips. "And the last days, when he called you?" she pressed.

"He made me prepare his will, and the message. He didn't think ya'd come," Hoggle shuffed his feet in the garbage. It crinkled under his boots. "I didn't think ya'd come, at least, not so fast."

"When did he…, when did he die?" The word felt foreign on her tongue, that single syllable even more bizarre than sitting in the Goblin King's empty throne room conducting this conversation.

His mouth quirked. "When ya got his message. At that moment. That's what the spell said."

Not even eight hours ago, by her time. While she'd been studying for her biology exam, the great and terrible Goblin King faded. She shivered. When he passed, his last breath caressed her face. Something in Hoggle's expression unnerved her. "You mean, you don't know exactly?"

Her friend shook his head, hands spread. The old fear reflected in his eyes. "I never saw 'is Majesty. Not once. Nobody did. Just took messages. Crystals."

Sarah paused, staring up at the ceiling as she forced dizzy thoughts into words. "Wasn't anyone with him when he died?"

Hoggle shook his head negatively again.

She felt her face fall.

x x x x

Organizing the goblins lolling around the palace to clean up the throne room was a major undertaking, but Sarah couldn't think while surrounded by the junk. She didn't remember getting so neurotic, but the garbage encroached on her senses, distracting and twisting otherwise normal trains of thought. She caught sight of a shimmering silver cup, and memory whisked her back to a haunting ballroom. Crumbled cheese made her think of Karen's homemade macaroni and; she recalled the horrible nostalgia of her first weeks at college before realizing how much further away she'd suddenly become. The discarded hankies threatened her with images of a proud man, once gilded and arrogant, lying alone in silvery, all-equalizing death. Cleaning took her mind off thinking.

The goblins had mixed notions of funeral and party, she noted, but cleaning was certainly more like party, whether or not anything actually got clean. Even with Hoggle's help, she barely got the beer kegs hidden away, or the ear-splitting music stopped long enough to get a honest-minute's-mischief-free work out of any of her helpers. They wanted to laugh and dance. The trash made them happy. After all, the mess gave the goblins tangible evidence of their fun. Of course, mopping and the inherent danger of covering a slippery floor in soapy water could also become good fun. The new queen quickly found herself on her backside among numerous slick-floor booby-traps. In the past, she'd had the audacity to wonder at the inanity of "Caution: Wet Floor" signs. The goblins laughed at her, even when she screamed bloody murder at them.

They refused to listen to her, sneaking up behind her and pinching her shoulder or pulling her hair. They stole her slippers and entertained a thrilling game of keep away. Eventually, Sarah gave up, satisfied with the marginally improved chamber. At least the trash was gone. With Ludo's assistance, she snatched the slippers back, pushed the remaining goblins out of the throne room, and bared the door. He and Didymus stood guard outside. Occasionally, she heard an armored thud against the door. Heaving a sigh, Sarah slid down the polished wood frame, sinking into a pile of wet exhaustion.

"Are they always like this?" she wheezed, wiping her collegiate sleeve across her mouth. She tugged her slippers onto tired feet and wormed her toes as far into the fleece as she could.

Hoggle grunted. "Worse."

Her red eyes widened. "You're joking."

"I hope so."

Sarah smiled a little. "Thank heavens." She yawned, pushing her sleeves down her arms. "I'm exhausted. I should go back and rest…"

Hoggle shrugged, traces of fear hidden behind his eyes. "Well, can ya conjure one of those crystals?"

Though she opened her mouth, no words fell out. Her brow furrowed. She remembered the crystal and it's reflection in the mirror—her reflection entwined with his reflection. "I don't know how." A heavy weigh settled on her solar plexus. Sarah glanced at the windows and heavy barred door. She thought of her classes and her new single dorm room with the downy comforter. She thought of her friends and the chaos eight king-free hours created in a single room. "Am I stuck here?"

"You's the queen."

Pursing her lips, Sarah cupped her hand in the empty air. She focused on the feel of stale molecules resting in her palm. She willed the air to coalesce. Nothing solid came.

Outside, she heard Didymus' startled battle cry and retreating footsteps. With an indelicate sniff, she suddenly understood the true meaning of Catch 22. She couldn't just leave them, her friends and the many goblin denizens, to dissolve into chaos. But she didn't know how to provide for them either. She knew nothing of the political climate or the Labyrinth's place in its system. She needed time she didn't have, and still doubted ticking hours could solve the problem. The reunion with her friends hurt enough. Her heart still felt like splitting, torn between joy at seeing them and incredible inherent distrust in the sudden change in scenery. The dazzling fantasy of queen-hood danced before her eyes, but she knew enough of her own world to predict a different, stark reality, even if she had no idea what it might be.

"Is ya trying Sarah?" Hoggle's voice broke her reverie, his grey eyebrows knitted together.

She shook her head, shuffling her thoughts and filing them away. She needed to figure out how to travel, at least to make some excuse to her professors, before she could really focus on problems here. And there. What excuse would they buy? The molecules itched in her palm. The air took on a faint silvery glow. Sarah grinned, blocking distractions from of her mind.

The door to the throne room burst from its hinges.

Naturally, the crystal faded before she jumped out of her chair.

Sarah expected a horde of angry, or worse, mischievous goblins. Instead, a smoky haze permeated the room. Wide eyed, she watched it float into the chamber and coalesce into a figure mere feet away. Hoggle ran for cover. The smoke took the form of a man, and yet, certainly not a man, not even as the Goblin King had been. His features melted and melded, making his shadowed face indistinguishable.

Acid churned in her stomach, delicately invading the back of her throat. She swallowed forcefully, ignored her dusty college sweat shirt, PJ-pants, and slippers, and set her smile as positively as possible. She bowed lightly, straight-backed from the waist, out of courtesy, just in case. "Hello and welcome. My name is Sarah Williams," she began, not knowing where to start. Although she wanted to say where she was from, as she had in nearly every college interview, or give some kind of title, she didn't know what information to give. Sarah took a clandestine deep breath instead.

For a moment, only baritone rumblings flowed from the murky man's amorphous mouth. Slowly, his speech resolved into English words even though his features remained fluid and malleable. The discordant resolution unnerved her. "I shall be called Aziren then," he said. "You, in your crude language, can pronounce that."

"Greetings." Anxiously, she noticed that he did not bow.

"We have received word at the High King's palace that the King of the Goblins is dead." The way his shifting eyes bored into hers made Sarah feel dizzy. "Is this true?"

"I believe so," she ventured, clasping her hands behind her back. She pressed her thumb nail into her palm. "But please forgive my ignorance Aziren; who are you?"

"I am the High King's fifteenth vizier and favored emissary." The shadowy figure seemed taken aback, and very basely offended. Silently, Sarah cursed. Aziren drew himself together, growing taller without congealing or thinning the swirling mist. "Do I now address the new Queen of the Goblins, Sarah Williams, or are you just another silly, ingrate runner from Above?" He scoffed. "Or a scullery maid? Granted, I suppose I am unlikely to see much of a difference anyway."

The emissary's commentary stung, but the king had told her she was the only one who succeeded in running the Labyrinth. She pushed thoughts of her own silly ingratitude, and her diminished self-esteem, away. "Well…" she breathed, pursing her lips. His dulcimer voice whispered comfort through her mind, like his breath was once again on her cheek.

"Do tell me you know who you are," Aziren sneered. "I told you well, dirty girl-child from wherever…"

"I'm Sarah Williams. You don't need to speak to me like that. It doesn't matter who..."

"I need to know who has inherited the Labyrinthine throne!" he fumed.

Sarah squared her shoulders and caught the cowering Hoggle's bright eye.

"I am Sarah Williams…," she repeated quietly, cutting off his slanderous insults. The delicate silk of a feather stroked her wrist, circling her pulse. Her heart acclerated. The old king's words filled her mind; his tongue influenced hers. The sensation sent goose bumps slithering up her spine. "And I am the Goblin Queen."

x x x x

With the matter of succession resolved in both of their minds, she dismissed the haughty vizier as quickly as she could, unable to withstand his pompous arrogance and refusing to turn her back until he bowed and retreated. The foggy figure looked slightly more solid as he slipped from the room. When Sarah finally let out her breath and beckoned to Hoggle, she found she clutched a single, off-white feather in her hand.


	3. Settling In

One Feather 2

Settling in

She didn't want to enter his chamber, but exhaustion threatened and she needed to face the mystery of her new kingdom with a clear head. Sarah shuddered: her kingdom. For a moment, she glared at his memory and his audacity to name an ignorant girl from another land as his successor. She quickly admonished herself for thinking ill of the dead, even though she had no affection for him. She nearly felt guilty for that too. Setting her jaw firmly, she touched the brass knocker on the heavy oak door. It swung open noiselessly before she could apply pressure.

Whatever she expected of the Goblin King's chamber—she had tried to quash all her expectations—this was simply not it. Neither noir nor gothic, the room was quiet, clean, and surprisingly Spartan considering what she had seen of his tastes in clothes. The chamber seemed aesthetically austere, unlived-in, but not as alien as she'd anticipated.

Despite its vast size, the suite was smaller than she would have ever imagined based on what she knew of his ego. Gray stone covered the walls, occasionally interrupted by a tapestry for warmth. The weavings depicted mythical beasts living contentedly, some she recognized and others she did not. The doors opened to an anteroom with an unlit fireplace, full tall bookcases, green velvet settee and dark-wood desk and chair. Several neat stacks of papers sat innocently on the desk. The furnishings were certainly fine, but functional. Though the empty grate cast dark shadows, she could imagine a cheery glow illuminating this room, far gentler and kinder than its owner. Against her better judgment, she pictured him sitting and reading. She nearly giggled at the thought of him in reading glasses. The vision of the golden king melted into gray sickness. Sarah shook her head and crossed through the archway out of the anteroom.

In the next room, a white china wash basin and mahogany dresser stood across from a large curtained bed. The emerald hangings against the dark wood made the four-poster look like something out of a book, but not foreign to her. Lavish, and fitting a king certainly, but not outlandish. She forced herself to blink his image away.

She traced the swirling carving on the footboard's post. He had been alone when he died. That kind of isolation seemed like an unfitting punishment, even for someone so…but what was the word for him anyway? Sarah tried not to imagine him, alone, in pain, and passing. His message spoke, in its dry, dismissive way, of deep loneliness. Had he no one but childish goblins for company? No adviser, vizier, or friendly face appeared to help her. He seemed to have commanded the kingdom by himself. The goblins were sweet in their way, but childish and unruly. Completely inelegant; so unlike him. Although he frightened her, she could admire his intellect and his elegance from afar. Part of her wished the distance didn't encompass the cool shadow of death, especially because in that case she never would have contemplated it. He must have felt bitter seclusion throughout his reign. How long had he ruled in such dire isolation? From what little she'd seen, the high court offered no reprieve. Hoggle suggested he was battling with the high king. Alone in death and in life, she lost some of her wonder at his fierce cruelty.

She set his feather alone on the pillow, silently thanking the token for giving her strength and telling her what to say. The stark white stood out against the viridian.

Since his perfectly made bed unnerved her, Sarah hurried about preparing for sleep to distract herself. She decided return to her world, and the wrath of her college professors, on a full night's rest. She'd find a way. Hoggle promised to wake her in the morning, despite his intense fear of the chamber.

She splashed water on her face and scrubbed, amused by her reflection in the basin. He'd left a care-worn, over-tired, slightly-pimply, barely-not-teenager a kingdom. She laughed, stopping as the hollow sound echoed. Swallowing it back hurt.

Turning to the massive wardrobe, she opened the doors out of equal parts curiosity and desire to get out of her dirty aboveground pajamas. Inside, his full-sleeved white shirts still hung, neat and normal, over crisp breeches, on the right side of the wardrobe. Vests and velvet and leather jackets waited nearby. Still, she guessed he kept most of his wardrobe elsewhere; these clothes were distinctly lacking in glitter and feathers. Feathers.

She gasped. Three simple dresses, suited exactly to her tastes in every-day fairytale finery; pants and a cozy red tunic sweater; and two long, pretty pale blue night gowns in silk and lace hung in the wardrobe as if they'd always been there, pushed to the far left side. His and Hers. Hands trembling, she took down a nightgown and slipped it on. She told herself she chose the garment because she had nothing else and it was clean.

In the end, she couldn't bring herself to sleep in his bed, or even to disturb the covers. The normalcy of the whole room unnerved her. Instead, she settled on the settee for a fitful night's sleep.

x x x x

Although she woke stiff and chilly, Sarah felt grateful for the morning. She dressed quickly in her pajama pants and the long red sweater from the wardrobe.Working out the transportation spell was surprisingly easy once she'd rested. Hoggle hypothesized that the succession and the necessary magic settled on her over night. While she relished anything that might make running the kingdom easier, Sarah feared any power that might make her more like him. She didn't know if she could control magic. Hoggle pointed out that she needed to stop philosophizing and return to school.

Juggling her time between new, harder classes and goblin mischief left Sarah beyond exhausted whether she stumbled into bed in her dorm room or on the king's settee. She stayed in the Labyrinth on aboveground weekends, trying to force all her major tasks into that time and still finish her homework, determined to keep her GPA high. Three hundred level classes assigned fierce papers. She just tried to keep the castle in on piece, clean, orderly, and free of booby traps while learning what she could about the political scene underground. Adjusting to the time differences created several close shaves too. She began telling her professors a tale of a sick aunt, grateful that she kept a car on campus, which kept the excuse plausible—not that she had time to go anywhere.

Her social life dissolved. Regretfully, Sarah decided not to audition for the theater department; she wouldn't be cast in a show for the first time in her college career. She told the worried professors the same sick aunt story, and claimed that her classes kept her up too late. They didn't seem to swallow it; neither did her theater friends. Most of her casual acquaintances forgot her name. Her new college girl friends grew frustrated with her constant inability to play, since she was studying or visiting that aunt. They didn't hold her situation against her, but they stopped calling. She almost felt grateful for her silent phone and empty answering machine. The lack of calls made ignoring her loneliness a little easier, but at the same time, she suddenly noted the fickleness of the girl friends who swore they'd stick together forever. As much as she loved Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus, their company lacked the intellectual stimulation of her college compatriots', and they were usually helping her deal with disasters anyway. She had no time for amusement.

If drunken goblin riots weren't enough, the castle kept testing her. The hallways shifted and changed. Staircases leapt away from her feet. Doors spontaneously locked, or unlocked, just to vex her; goblins got into wine stores whether she wanted them too or not. Bathrooms disappeared at critical moments. Sarah found that her college vocabulary came in handy for venting her emotions, but stopped swearing at the walls when the goblins picked up the habit. She tried to keep as firm a hand with the castle as she did with its denizens, but found disciplining stone much more difficult. She didn't dare even enter the Labyrinth. Occasionally, she heard drumming and shouts through the thick gates.

Nearly a month into her reign as queen, Sarah noticed that the paper piles on Jareth's desk were growing.

Exhausted after a chemistry test, goblin small-claims court, and two hours spent fighting the castle on the way back to her room, Sarah wanted nothing more than to curl up on the settee with a novel for a Friday evening of rare peace. Instead, a great crash made her look at the unused desk. Papers cascaded onto the floor. She jumped up. The papers kept flooding down. Sarah bit her lip and gathered the pile.

The top missive bore that days date:

_Her Goblin Highness:_

_We insist upon your urgent response, as your reply is already days overdue. We simply cannot throw a party in honor of your coronation without you. Please you're your answer immediately. _

_ called Demetra, high court stewardess_

__ Puzzled, Sarah shuffled through the stack. She soon located five other notices of her late response. The actual invitation was dated within the week she took the throne. And those invites made up only a tiny fraction of the papers on the desk. Sarah thought she could cry all over again with each new sheet. Lazily elegant script casually informed her of overdue taxes, both from her citizens and owed to the High King. Supply lists indicated the potential for food shortage in the coming winter, despite a surplus of goat cheese. Some of the papers were receipts for personal palace expenses, including a wardrobe she never ordered. Her worries and stresses piled ever higher.

True, she should have known that such paperwork would exist, it simply had to. She groaned, since could've, would've, and should've were now so worthless. Sarah barely had time to keep the castle running; she didn't even know what was going on outside the city gates, much less at the high court. As much as she wanted to study the political scene, supplies for winter would have to take higher priority at least for the short term.

She waved a hand over the pile of papers, simultaneously sensing their magical origin and sending them back into neat stacks. The king had created all these lists and documents, enough for a hundred cabinet ministers through his magic alone. His spells lingered on the parchment after his death. Sarah had to admit her gratitude to the strength of his power. With a ten page paper to write, a second session of goblin court tomorrow, and her new score of troubles, Sarah cast a mournful look at the novel and settee before setting down to the task at hand.

First, she tracked down and answered the invitation. The party celebrated her claim of the Goblin throne. Her formal coronation would follow nearly half a year later. She would attend the high court's party in her honor, a fortenight hence. She apologized profusely for her tardiness. Then she started studying the other papers, trying hard to ignore the sinking pit in her stomach.

She knew nothing of balls and court parties. She knew less of the court and its members. If she told herself she tended to the Goblin City's problems first because she knew more about taxation and food rationing, she knew she was lying.

Late in the night, as she worked by flickering candle light, a solitary white feather floated down out of the ether. It landed on her shoulder, as light as gossamer and shimmering as brightly. Somehow, the feather gave her hope and confidence—a lingering gift of his spell, she supposed. Sarah set her teeth and started to think like a ruler against her better judgment.


	4. Destorying Delusions

One Feather 3

Author's Note: My primary artistic goal for this story is to practice telling a good tale without massive length and depth. My other primary goal is to finish it fast so I can redirect all my Labyrinthine attentions to Persephone…and the three-plus original projects currently batting. So, without further ado, thanks to all who read and review. Wow, rhyme.

Destroying Delusions

The butterflies in her stomach refused to quiet; Sarah fought to keep her stomach. Though the transport spell only left her slightly nauseous and the gown that appeared in her closet looked fabulous, she still felt faint.

Sarah fought to keep her breathing steady and composed. Her breasts rose and fell quickly, creamy and exposed against the neckline of her dress. Ivory feathers and snowy lace covered the corseted bodice, laced half-open in the back. The skirt swirled wide away from her legs, curiously light despite appearances. Having no one else to help, she'd done her hair herself, the way she had for prom so long ago, half up and half down in curls. Longer now, her tresses tumbled down her back, chocolaty dark against her pale skin and gown. Sarah felt like a Goblin Queen. She knew she looked the part: foreboding, yet dramatic, romantic. In a way, she looked a little like the female version of the king at their last encounter, when the world crumbled. She shoved the image away.

Terror rushed through her bones.

Sarah touched the door knocker anyway.

The heavy door swung open.

Colors swirled before her as dancers twirled. The women's skirts flared out as they spun. Sarah felt dizzy because her mind recognized their forms, but the features swirled. How could she make intelligent conversation when she couldn't make eye contact? She'd make a fool of herself in front of her fellow royals. After swearing under her breath, Sarah forced herself to inhale. In reality, she figured she'd look foolish regardless, since she didn't know much about proper protocol or the social elite.

The sea of figures parted like the biblical red sea, creating a wide aisle down the center. Shifting faced courtiers stared at her—at least, she felt as if they did. Swallowing hard, Sarah walked between them. The reveling ranks closed behind her.

The walk seemed to take forever. Drawing on what little the single, hopefully-up-to-date etiquette book she could actually understand had taught her, Sarah tried to take suitably small steps, keep her hands open at her sides, and modestly lower her chin. She thought she heard the courtiers laughing at her, but forced her mouth into a smile. Her cheeks wouldn't move less if she'd glued them.

Hours seemed to pass before she reached the far wall. A dais dominated that end of the room, providing the sole throne a perfect view of the immense crowd. A loud voice that must have belonged to a herald announced her in a dozen of languages, halting between each repetition like the announcements at an international airport. Finally, the English version confirmed what Sarah suspected. While the courtiers disdainfully covered their ears, Sarah knelt to present herself to the high king. She couldn't see through the fog around his shifting image to even manage a peak.

"Majesterium," she murmured ceremonially, full of reverence, lowering her head to reveal the vulnerable back of her neck in submission. An invisible weight settled on her vertebra, testing her strength. Sarah pushed her shaking hands into her lap.

The high king's response echoed through the chamber. Sarah guessed he gave a blessing to confirm her succession, but she couldn't understand, or see him, so she couldn't really tell. Of course, his majesty didn't deign to speak in English, French, or even the tiny bit of Russian she understood. For all she knew, the high king could have damned her to oblivion or chided her for arriving late. She hoped she hid her agitation well. Sarah hated ambiguity. Mentally, she flung a deluge of insults at her lord, now proven the pompous, inconsiderate, boring, tedious ass she'd expected him to be. Finally, the high king's strange speech ended and she knew she was dismissed to her party. The pressure on her neck disappeared. The ceremony was the epitome of anticlimactic. When she stood, Sarah's dizziness increased ten-fold.

She turned back to the crowd, dissolving into it without trying, desperate to find a friendly face or at least one that stayed constant for more than a minute. Who was she kidding, a college student from a different world so out of her league? She probably had a nervous zit on her nose. Despite her reputation for making friends, trying to start a conversation felt like gasping for breath while drowning. The fish out of water analogy had never seemed so painfully appropriate.

The rest of the party was horrible, especially for a party held in her honor. No one talked to her, but they stared, pointed, and whispered behind their hands with mouths that came and went like camera flashes. Only their elusive, musical speech remained omnipresent. It nattered at her like insects; feeling the pecks on her bare arms, Sarah wanted to swat the sounds away.

Unable to enjoy the music, dancing, or conversation, Sarah left the party early. At first, she hoped she wasn't being too rude, but a minute later, after no one made any attempt to be civil, she didn't care. It wasn't all that different from the college drinking scene, she thought unimpressed, especially once the dancers' revelries turned lewd.

Collapsing on the floor just in front of her settee, Sarah decided she'd never felt more alone. At least the luxurious dress cushioned her behind. She heard the fabric tear and sighed. She glanced at the desk, piled higher with incomprehensible important papers than ever before. Additional sheets of parchment appeared from thin air to land mockingly on top of the heap. She cringed: so much for finishing that chore if the party went south.

After her first experience running the labyrinth, Sarah intended to give up crying. Now as its queen, for the first time in years, she lowered her head to her hands and sobbed. Sarah didn't notice the feather that appeared in her hand until its fluff stuck to her runny nose. She sneezed all over her cream-colored bodice. Thoroughly ruining the incredible dress only made her sobbing worse.

x x x x

At first, she blamed the feather for the tickle in her nose. Two days later, after nearly killing herself by sneezing during the transportation spell, Sarah somehow pulled herself out of the dorm room wall and discovered she officially had a cold. After two years at school, she knew what havoc a few germs could wreck on one's studies; Sarah soon learned that germs truly were the plague of royalty.

Afraid for her welfare, some of the goblins walked around on their best, tip-toeing behavior. Those that liked her feared she might die like the old king. Unfortunately, the remaining two-thirds more than made up for the peace by trying to get away with anything and everything of which they'd ever dreamed.

Eventually, Sarah told Ludo and Didymus to do their best and locked the door to her chamber. She had a rasping sore throat. And a fever. And a new city-income budget to develop and assess, according to her desk. And her first three hundred level midterm. And a supposedly short, sweet, simple ten-page paper. And several party invitations to decline, if she could figure out to whom to send them. And a chemistry midterm. And other temporarily less pressing matters. And four inane small-claims cases to preside over at tomorrow's goblin court. And a stuffy nose that defied tissues. And graciously mild menstrual cramps. And speaking of periods, was periodically throwing up.

In the end, she slept through both the goblin court and chemistry midterm, which made everything much worse instead of better. Now, she needed an A on her final and every remaining assignment just to keep her average. For the first time in her life, a professor received a late, unimpressive paper from Sarah Williams, and no excuses about a sick aunt would undue the damage. Wistfully dreaming about summer vacation briefly bolstered Sarah's fortitude, until she realized she'd need to hide her frequent disappearances from a snooping stepmother and eagle-eyed little brother. And make enough money for next year's tuition and books. And look for an internship. And maybe catch up with a few high school friends. And baby-sit Toby when her father and Karen went out to dinner. And…

"Hoggle, how did the old goblin king, Jareth, ever do this without loosing his mind?" Sarah wheezed to her only confidant, sipping chamomile tea pilfered from her dorm supplies. Apparently, even calming herbs and hot water required too much of her kingdom. Or at least, she didn't know where to find them.

"Maybe he did. After all, neither ah us liked him." Her friend shrugged, looking into his own cup with curiosity. "He wasna never nice to anyone."

"I don't care about _nice_," Sarah snorted. "_Nice_ is a thing of the past. I just care about sane."

_He wanted to be nice to you_, a dangerous tickle at the back of her mind noted, _even if he wasn't very good at it, he wanted to try._

Sarah very politely told the little voice to shut-it; she had enough nonsense to think about already without her own mind betraying her.

_Maybe if not for Toby, you could have let him try a bit harder. You might have. He wanted to try again before…_

She didn't want to think about his demise. Even months into her new life, Sarah didn't want to think about his lonely death bed. Truth be told, she didn't want to think about his lonely life either. She didn't want to think about how similar to his hers might become.

_His life wouldn't have been so lonely, not if some kind soul could see all the turmoil behind his mask._

Sarah wanted the nagging voice to stop being so smart, and so well-spoken, and to go away. She told it so.

"What's that Sarah?" Hoggle asked. His forehead crinkled. "Is ya listening to me?"

"No, I," she stammered, "what did you say?"

"I's said: 'he only had one life to lead.'"

"Doesn't matter." Sarah shook her head to clear it. Her sinuses rattled. She noticed the exponential increase of her mental cussing. "I can barely keep the castle in order. He ran the labyrinth, harassed challengers, played in the political scene. I'm a failure."

"No." Hoggle's smile warmed his whole face, but it wasn't enough. "You'ra novice."

Luckily, a fit of coughing drowned out the need to reply. By the time she recovered her breathing, Sarah decided to go to bed and bid Hoggle goodnight.

In her state, she barely felt surprised to see a new off-white feather perched on the settee's pillow, just as if it belonged there with her.


	5. Both Sides Now

One Feather 4

Both Sides Now

Even in the dorm's communal shower, a tug behind her naval told Sarah that something different was about to happen. Her brow furrowed of its own accord. Thus far in her new life, different usually meant bad. Her stomach twisted. Sarah dropped her washcloth. And then, with a flash of inspiration, she knew.

A young father wished his baby boy away. The teenaged mother cried, begging her boyfriend to rescind his hasty words. His-her-their-the goblins swarmed around the couple, cackling at the expressions on their faces. Tears streamed down the girl's face; his was red and blotchy. They held each other—Sarah half expected the old king in all his black-spiked finery. He should intrude on them, blasting chill nonchalance at their unhappiness, while chiding their own lack of responsibility.

Sarah paused, shivering as she shut the off the tap. Wrapping herself in the towel, she prepared the transport spell.

Shimmering back into space, she quickly realized that she wasn't materializing in the castle. She caught a hazy glimpse of a small, dingy apartment with faded pink floral patterns instead of her cool green castle chamber.

She gritted her teeth to fight her own spell. She'd have no authority wrapped in a towel and dripping wet. She assumed she needed authority, to confront a young woman anything like she'd been. But no time for revelations now.

Yanking hard on the magic, she landed unceremoniously on her castle settee. The call kept pulling at her stomach. Her towel disappeared, lost in the ether between worlds. She felt ill. Ignoring her nudity, Sarah trotted to the wardrobe, wondering what authoritative ensemble to wear to her first summons as guardian of unwanted children. Once again, the wardrobe supplied without being asked. As she opened the door, shining black silk swirled up her legs and around her neck. Wind whipped through her hair.

Blinking twice, Sarah looked at her reflection. Every inch the goblin queen, her breath hitched in her throat. Sarah swallowed, found she couldn't resist the call any longer, and let the magic take her.

x x x x

The most beautiful woman Mark had ever seen shimmered into existence. A split-skirted black gown perpetually swirled around her high-booted legs. A tight corset, impossibly tiny waist, and high collar accentuated her feline grace and savage nobility. Her sable hair blew back, swept up in elegant curls, yet somehow loose, but never in her face. Every angle of her features was perfection, delicate and hard at the same time. Even the tight-lipped disdain on her face did not mar her cruel beauty; he couldn't help longing for her smile, her favor, and her embrace.

Even Tracy seemed taken aback by the power radiating around the woman, though the stranger's fierce beauty affected her with more jealousy than desire. "Mark," she stammered, as if their unusual visitor couldn't hear, "that's really, really….you mean those stories you told me….they're true?"

"Tracy," he warned, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. Mark felt every individual hair on the back of his neck standing up straight, one at a time.

"I am the Goblin Queen," the beautiful woman stated placidly, as if they should have known. One perfect eyebrow rose. "You called on me?"

"We called on the Goblin King…" Mark corrected, wishing a powerful but ugly man could replace the authoritative siren. She gave him terrible ideas. They flashed across his mind's eye despite every attempt to stop them.

"You have nevertheless wished away your own helpless infant." A flawless crystal spun aimlessly through her long fingers.

Tracy threw herself to the floor. Mark thought the gesture made her look like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut. "Please," his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend begged, prostrate at the Queen's feet. "I need my baby back. Mark didn't mean it."

"Oh he didn't?" she sneered, still lovely with her lip curled. "And how do you know what he meant?"

The Queen's penetrating gaze leveled on him. Mark thought she could see his very soul. "Well, I didn't, I mean….Tracy we can't." Against his will, he imagined the alien siren undressing him. He shuddered, fixing his gaze on Tracy. "You know that. Your parents, my job, money, school."

"How could you?" the girl wept. "Our little boy, sent to evil, nasty goblins."

"We can't even afford him." Mark shook his head. "He'll have a better life."

"Will he live?" Tracy asked, wringing her hands. She peered up at the woman before her, even duller beside the brilliant black glow.

She nodded, invisible wind still whipping through her tresses. "He will become one of us."

High-pitched chortles echoed from every crevice of the room.

Mark shuddered, remembering the horde of goblins who appeared to carry out his wish. Their little claws clicked on the floor like giant insects, tearing through curtains and upholstery. They delighted in scaring others only slightly less than in the havoc they caused.

"But you're the Queen of the Goblins," Tracy tried again. "So will he be…?"

"Trace," he cut in, not wanting to hear the answer. "We don't have to throw away our lives. He'll be fine."

Tracy's face paled.

"I'm waiting," said the Goblin Queen, casually studying her nails.

"Waiting?" Tracy choked. "Mark, what does she mean?"

"Nothing," he stammered, knowing she didn't know all of the legend.

In one elegant gesture, the queen produced another elegant crystal orb in her left hand, then in her right. The globes danced around her palms, mesmerizing them both. "Do you want to try and win him back?" she hissed. "He's there in my castle, beyond the goblin city and my Labyrinth."

As the crystals danced, Mark caught glimpses of both the treacherous journey and blissful, baby-free nineteen-year-old life: rock concerts and dank oubliettes, keg parties and malicious fairies, sports cars and shifting stone walls, alternately caught his eye.

Then, from dark recesses of his mind, he heard Tracy say, "I'll do anything." And the Queen nodded.

Suddenly they stood on a windswept orange plain, staring at a thirteen hour clock that would count out their failure.

She left them without a backwards glance; Mark couldn't help staring at her shapely back. The tall weeds parted before their queen. The wind carried ghost strains of her last instructions as she vanished. "You have thirteen hours to solve the labyrinth, before your little boy becomes one of us forever." Mark shuddered and trudged towards the gate.

x x x x

Sarah couldn't bring herself to say 'such a pity' even though his words burned on her tongue so badly she knew they were an intended part of the script. But what she'd seen was a tragedy, not some sarcastic pity. Although grateful for the strength of his spells, his foresight, assistance, and preparation, Sarah decided that a new queen could write a new script. She even sent a message to her citizens, telling them to ignore the runners and let them pass without ill will. If the young couple asked the right questions, she'd even permit her denizens to help. She knew the Labyrinth itself would still provide plenty of dangerous twists; even as the once-victorious ruler, Sarah didn't enter its walls herself.

She tried not to watch the baby's underage parents struggle through her kingdom, but soon found she couldn't help herself. The little boy cried far too frequently for her to focus on chemistry problems, and something in her objected to doing homework in full Goblin Queen capacity and regalia. So she bounced the fine little chap on her knee and watched his parents spend more time squabbling with each other than trying to make their way forward. The ordeal sickened her and she had no idea what to do with the baby.

Once the wardrobe clothed her, replying to her summons seemed easy enough. She'd missed being on stage and glimpses of the young man's dreams made her skin crawl. He wanted easy fame and fortune. He saw the child as a set back, an unexpected consequence of his pleasure-loving life. And though the girl was not brilliant, Sarah saw a smothered compassion that ran deep into her pure heart. For the young mother alone, Sarah wanted peace. Luckily, the old king's lingering spells had guided most of her moves, but now the magic faded to a dull simmer, providing no guidance on what to do with the baby. Sarah realized she didn't really know what would have happened to Toby. If the stolen children were to become goblins, Sarah wasn't sure she knew how to change them, or if she could even bring herself to do so. If the occasion arose, she hoped the old king's magic would suggest a solution, preferably one she could accept, or at least stomach.

Watching them, Sarah knew, or hoped, that she hadn't been so foolish. At least she'd cared and realized her mistake once she'd arrived. She'd risen to the challenge for her brother, her family, for the friends she made along the way, and for herself.

This pair was obviously doomed. Though the girl wanted her child back, she lacked stamina after her pregnancy and chocked on fear that clouded her drive. The man simply wanted to fail. Sarah hated him for it. They couldn't stop bickering to make a decision and feared too much to set out alone. Nevertheless, Sarah even tried to slow time down, just a little, to let Tracy hold her son again. The magic refused to cooperate.

At last she could do nothing to stall the thirteen hours longer. Though the young couple skirted two oubliettes, they hadn't made it past the Labyrinth's outskirts. Sarah sighed, gathered herself, and went to announce their failure.

When she returned, fighting tears herself, but unable to completely abolish traditional rules she barely understood, she found the baby waiting for her.

"Please," Sarah prayed, closing her eyes. "Please." She called on the old king's magical traces with all her might. She wished the baby back to his parents. She imagined the feathers that comforted her each time a hard decision needed to be made. She radiated gratitude for his helpful spells that allowed her to keep her new kingdom marginally functional.

Sarah opened her eyes. The baby had spit up, but he certainly hadn't disappeared.

Sarah sighed. She'd never really thought to wonder what happened to the Goblin King's wish-aways. While running the Labyrinth, the image of green skin and boils covering Toby kept her focused, but she'd never felt exactly sure of his words. He so often twisted them. Sarah supposed Toby could have become just about anything. For all she knew, he might lived a fairytale life better than her younger self had ever dreamed. She did know she couldn't handle college, a kingdom, and an infant.

Frustrated, she did a mediocre job on the chemistry problems while rocking the infant in a makeshift cradle, determined to sleep on the matter. Of course, the baby didn't see fit to let her sleep.

In the morning, since no better answer came and the baby's crying induced a fierce headache, Sarah decided to change the script. Tracy loved and deserved her young son. She'd bend the rules just this once and return the child. Putting all her will into the transportation spell, she laid the little boy in his crib in the flowery apartment in the wee hours of the morning.

She hoped Tracy would remember the experience only as the dream she spun for her—a prophetic one, warning her of Mark's ambition and faithlessness. Sometimes, Sarah wished she too remembered the Labyrinth as nothing more than an educative vision. Sighing, she returned to her dorm and settled in for a few hours of much needed rest.


	6. Necessary Shades

One Feather 5

Necessary Shades

Somehow, although everyday felt like at least two lifetimes, Sarah's junior year of college, nearly her first year as Goblin sovereign, flew by faster than she ever would have imagined. A collection of forty-odd feathers adorned her desk, small tokens and rewards for facing difficulties. Each one attached itself to a memory, giving her comfort and pride.

During the first days of summer vacation without the heat of school, Sarah realized she'd missed several slow changes in herself. Though she managed to spend an entire free day outside reading without sunscreen, her face stayed moonlight pale. Instead of breaking out in horrid zits from the stress of her double life, her complexion smoothed to perfect porcelin. Every varied shade of gray and green in her eyes deepened and intensified. Her hair became ten times more luxurious, longer, and healthier, even though she had little time to care for it. Suddenly, she understood why so many boys had asked her out spring semester. She'd simply stared at them, having forgotten the concept of dating in the midst of completing college while running a not-so-fairytale kingdom. Karen seemed to think her bloom must be over glow from some beau, Sarah's first love, maybe even lover. When disappointed, Karen asked what she was using on her hair. Jojoba? Sarah just shrugged.

The changes weren't just physical. Though she imagined she'd developed several ulcers, she felt stronger. As the second term passed, she functioned more effectively on less and less sleep. Her mind sharpened; class work became easier. She supposed the Labyrinth's magic gave its queen gifts beyond transportation and powerful crystals. Those spells obeyed her too. With mere months of practice, her magic answered confidently. She felt vaguely in control, able, though she was always teetering on a cliff face. She began to harbor her own goals too, wondering if the goblins could ever be educated to govern themselves.

The way she thought of the old king changed too.

Jareth. His name had been Jareth. Jareth with no one to call him by name.

In retrospect, she'd always known that he'd been playing a part, just as she was when she went to steal children. Now she knew that she hadn't known him at all. Acting aside, anyone would break under his responsibilities. Even knowing she was improving as a monarch, Sarah remained aware that she barely performed half of his old tasks. New ones surfaced nearly daily; now she just understood that she'd eventually master them, though they made her life bleaker. And she never imagined how alone he'd been. Living two lives gave Sarah some socialization, but she almost never had time for pleasure or company in either world. He'd lived alone in a cold palace. His intellect separated him from normal people, let alone the goblins he ruled. She imagined him trapped.

Yet knowing that she hadn't known him, Sarah couldn't help wondering how much of himself he interjected into his acting. Older, she understood a little more of her younger self's confused attraction to him. He'd professed more. Coming from a cross between her dreams and her nightmares, he mixed strength, power, and intelligence she craved with selfishness, temper, and cruelty she didn't. From what little she could discern of his true character, he had bad and good qualities in heaps. She supposed him more or less human, for all his otherworldliness. Still, even in hindsight, Sarah couldn't decipher his cryptic combination of reality and illusion.

She recalled his final offer. Six odd years didn't make her wish she'd accepted him, because she wanted an equal partner, not a master or a slave, though she found so many of her peers lacking the qualities that would make them her equal even before her transformation into a queen. She wondered if she too were destined for solitude. The thought increased her burgeoning sympathy for him. Everyday, she wondered how alone he really must have been to chose her as his successor—to truly have no one else. No child, no friend, no steward, no family. Sarah surprised herself to find that her heart ached for him, both for his loneliness, and his early demise.

Most surprisingly, though perhaps he'd always known, she wished she'd known him better. At least then, maybe her job wouldn't be so hard. Though she acknowledged her own accumulating skill, she felt the load on her back pressing down, always threatening to strangle her. Sarah hated the constant feeling of suffocation.

Realizing she hadn't really comprehended the last several pages of her book, Sarah rolled off the lawn. She hoped her kingdom hadn't completely fallen apart in two days personal rest and got up to see if Karen and her father had come home from work. Toby was still in school, heading straight to karate practice afterwards. Glancing at the clock in the foyer, she noticed that like her younger self, she'd day-dreamed away far more hours than she intended. 4:50. With her family due in less than half an hour, she didn't have enough time to check on the Labyrinth without arousing suspicion. Sarah sighed and started supper.

By the time she strained the spaghetti, Toby barreled in to hug her legs. Sarah let his impact shake her more than it really did.

"How many more days to that yellow belt?" she asked, ruffling his hair.

"Test on Thursday," he beamed.

"Great," she heard the door close. "Hi Dad, Hi Karen. Good day I hope?"

Her father nodded agreement and headed up stairs.

"Certainly," Karen replied, stepping in to help Sarah with the salad. "Thanks for getting started."

"No problem, I've had a relaxing day," Sarah shrugged, giving Toby a gentle shove out of the kitchen. "Please go take a shower sports hero—you stink."

He wrinkled his nose and jogged out of the kitchen, throwing a few mock punches for good measure.

"Speaking of relaxing," Karen began, slicing tomatoes, "I checked with my coworker about that summer job. It's certainly more resume-worthy than the others."

Sarah waited for the blow.

"I'm still surprised you didn't look for another internship Sarah."

"I know. But I just need a little time to relax. Really relax." Sarah paused, sizing up her stepmother before she dropped the bomb. "I don't think I want to work a regular job this summer."

"Why?"

"I said I need to relax," she explained simply. "I've felt really stretched this year. And I've been working since I was seventeen. I have enough savings to take a small break." After her first experience with the Labyrinth and sudden want of responsibility, Sarah started working at the local bookstore a few hours a week and in the summer. She enjoyed the work, suggesting favorite reads, and daydreaming plenty once her duties were done. She'd thought she was used to working before she began learning real responsibility that fateful night.

"I thought you looked exhausted at Christmas," Karen commented nonchalantly.

Sarah heard the question anyway. "Please trust me on this. I'll have to be a little frugal, but I need some time."

Though her stepmother acquiesced and her father was easily persuaded over dinner, Sarah felt a deep sense of sadness settle at her deception. Once again, she wondered about telling her family the truth, but thought Karen might commit her. She pondered taking them to visit, but couldn't fully wrap her mind around the idea. What of Toby? He'd never seemed to remember his experience, but sometimes she caught a faraway gleam in his eye that made her nervous. Between Toby and her kingdom, between everything, she still couldn't stop the growing sense of dread. The weight on her back grew ever heavier.

x x x x

Even without a summer job, Sarah's situation quickly descended into emotional chaos. Once Toby finished school for his summer break, he wanted to spend every moment with his sister. Meanwhile, Sarah tried to steal away as often as she could when the two of them were home alone. She sent him to friend's houses and let him feel responsible by dropping him off at the library or movies for a few hours. She made sure Karen sent him to camp and swimming lessons. She even resorted, just once, to telling her cherished brother that she needed to be alone for a while. At that, he nibbled his lip, turned his back, and stomped upstairs.

If the disaster that called her away had truly been one, she wouldn't have been so angry, but the itching magical headache really just summoned her to a goblin keg party, albeit in delicate parts of the castle.

She gave vent to her temper and yelled savagely at them until they quivered at her feet. It was amazing how quickly they cleaned up and scattered after that. Thinking of Machiavelli, she wondered why she hadn't tried such tactics earlier. Then she remembered that she hadn't had enough rage to make them work.

Sighing, Sarah made her way to her desk. She swiped at watery eyes as she pilled papers from the desk to the chair so she could properly sort them. A renewed invitation for her coronation caught her eye. Toby's face flashed in her mind. She'd have to face her horrible, supposed peers again. In the castle she felt in charge enough, but she didn't want to swim in those deeper waters. She'd known it was coming…Sarah frowned, and swept the papers clear to the floor in one motion. She crossed the settee and slumped, head in her hands.

"Really Sarah, I chose you in belief you would never give up. Please don't disappoint me."

She jerked upright at the sound of his voice, looking around the room in a panic. Her eyes settled his ghostly image in the mirror before her, so reminiscent of his first summons. "What?"

"You do well girl," he smirked, misty eyebrow raised. "But royalty must sacrifice."

"I didn't ask for this," Sarah muttered, spellbound by his image. Her gaze met his reflected one and the tears spilled over. She pressed her knuckles to her cheek. "I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't tear away my family and if this gets any harder…"

"Shhh…" his remembered breath caressed her cheek, comforting her. "The best leaders neither chose, nor per say enjoy, their roles." His mirror effigy smiled. "You are a good leader; I thought you'd need this spell long ago."

"I think I did."

"No; you're scared now."

"Yes," she nodded, dabbing her face.

"I'll have you know, I was often scared."

Sarah sniffed. "You never looked it. You were glorious."

"Thank you my dear." His smile twitched again, as if he wanted to laugh, or itch his nose. The perfect lifelikeness of his expression squeezed at her heart. "I must tell you that you'll learn.

She shook her head, only mildly mollified. "I wish you were here." Though she resented her position at times, the plaintive words surprised even her.

"As do I." His image wavered, turning watery. The well-remembered visage started to tremble and fade. "I wish I could help you more, your majesty."

"Please don't call me…Please don't go."

His smile turned sad and she saw a strange reflection of her own emotions in his uneven eyes. "Alas I am already gone."

"You can't…" The mirror reflected more and more of her own face. Much as she dreaded it, he was going. "I need you."

His face was gone, but once more, his last breath stroked her cheek. "I waited a long time to hear you say that."

Then Sarah was alone and she lost her battle with weeping. Now, with a better of understanding of both of them, she understood her own grief. Had she understood as a child, or even a few months ago, the intrigue she felt, her grief would have been absolute. Frightened as she was, there'd been a kind of fireworks at a meeting of equals. Well, two souls that would become equals. And now, able to meet only the faintest, final traces of his magic, she realized that she missed the enigmatic Goblin King. And she always would. For the first time since learning of his death, she grieved for the loss of the man.


	7. And Now?

Author's Note: I feel some what apologetic that to mark the five year anniversary of _Persephone_, I have the penultimate chapter of _One Feather_. But sadly, the next _Persephone_ chapter just isn't ready yet. I hope you enjoy this one.

One Feather

And Now?

Standing outside the door to her coronation ceremony, Sarah fought hard to control her breathing. Air came in shallow pants that barely reached her lungs. She smoothed her hands over her shimmering gossamer gown, willing her tremors away. The action reminded her of her first disastrous meeting with the court. It reminded her of her first time facing the Labyrinth; she'd desperately tried to self-soothe then too.

The heavy door opened before her. Sarah stole one final deep breath and stepped forward to face her unlikely destiny. Inside the vast royal chamber, the faces swirled and blurred, but she didn't feel faint. She set her mind on completing her test of merit. She needed to cross from the far end of the chamber to the dais. Despite extensive research she couldn't glean any other details.

The task sounded easy enough, but with everything she knew of the Underground, it couldn't possibly be. Sarah predicted untold dangers: monsters, riddlers, pits of fire, rioting goblins, trap doors, duels… She swallowed, set her jaw, and set along the straight path through the crowd.

Step after step, she crept towards the dais as regally as she could. Her neck prickled with the threat of a challenge. She felt the small hairs stand straight up. She took another step and another. Nothing happened. The prickle refused to diminish. Sarah braced herself, scanning with her eyes without truly turning her head. Her heart hammered in her chest. She walked and waited for danger. The murmur of the crowd alerted her. She stiffened and hesitated. She knew she couldn't stop.

She drew near the dais. Her breathing roared in her ears. The images of the royals around her started to solidify and clear. Part of her wanted to study their faces, but Sarah wouldn't let herself be distracted.

She dropped to her knees before the high king without once looking up at him. Again, she felt the crushing weight on her vertebra as his power tested hers. This time, her magic pushed back immediately, and with a gasp from the crowd, the weight left. The rest of the court solidified in her peripheral vision.

The cool metal of a sword touched her neck.

Sarah raised her head as a tiny fair-haired child placed a golden circlet on her head. After all her trials, it was such a simple ceremony. A faint smile touched her lips.

The Majesterium began speaking in his strange shifting voice, but this time Sarah noticed odd familiarity she couldn't place. It itched at her ears.

"You swear to uphold the laws of the Goblin Kingdom, protect its denizens, and meet out justice. You swear fealty to the Majesterium, your sovereign and guardian. Your position entails extreme loyalty and absolute support for the Majesterium. You shall love me as yourself and above yourself. Do you swear it?"

"I swear." Now knowing the blessing and burden of her kingdom, Sarah found the words surprisingly easy to say. She raised her eyes to the high king's shifting gaze.

"Then rise as the Goblin Queen." He extended his gloved hand.

Sarah stared at him as she stood. The kaleidoscope of her lord's face swirled faster. She caught a flash of brown and one of blue on the Majesterium's chameleon visage. Green and fierce hazel to inspire complete loyalty. Glitter. High cheekbones and fine-arched brows that demanded submission. A narrow mouth trusted no one. Wild hair—white gold. She saw harsh ice and a gentle warmth humming beneath it. Then suddenly, the strange familiarity, and that nagging longing clicked into place as the Majesterium's features took their true form.

Sarah gasped. "You?"

"Congratulations Majesty," the old king, her former nemesis, remarked with a casually satisfied smile. "I never could have chosen better."

Glancing at her feet in bewilderment, she saw their linked hands and snatched hers away. "What?" They could have been the only people in the room. A few hours ago she'd have given anything to see him breathing again. Now, her eyes stung and she didn't know what to think or say. She could barely breathe herself. "You're…you can't be…no," she stammered, finding herself backing up without intending.

His eyes bored into hers as if to encourage her to accuse him of playing her false. "All vestiges of my life as Goblin King gone now, thanks to a petit coup d'état. I could hardly rule the underground and my smaller domain. I hope you understand my dear."

"I'm sorry." Sarah shook her head. The moisture in her eyes clouded her vision. Her crown put painful pressure on the tops of her ears. "I can't talk about this right now."

"Sarah…" he drawled her name.

Sarah wondered if he thought she'd turn around like her little-girl-self and return to him, running to his side, somehow asking for forgiveness. For half a heartbeat, she wanted to, but her rage satisfied her more. Instead, she turned on her heal, held her head high, and walked out of her own coronation.

x x x x

Shakily, she shimmered into existence in _her_ royal bedchamber. Sarah paused at the settee to scrub her eyes with the back of her hand. Her hand caressed the green velvet, leaving smears on the fabric. She fluffed her pillow, preferring to go to bed rather than act the wretch and sob anymore.

Sarah looked over her shoulder, through the threshold to the elaborate bed within which she'd never dared to sleep. She strode over to the bed and pulled back the hangings. Then she ripped them down. She didn't want to make it hers, but to challenge and inhabit his full position. The elaborate carved bed belonged to her now. She pulled back the covers, mussed them, and snuggled in deep. Despite her exhaustion, she tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position in the luxurious feather bed. It felt too good. It smelled like him.

The brass knocker sounded against the heavy door.

Sarah jumped, cursing as she caught her foot in the sheet. Besides the goblins who were supposedly always locked out of her suite, she'd never met anyone else in the castle. And the goblins were too short for the knocker.

"Come in," she sneered, sure of whom she'd face.

He opened the door quietly and closed it behind him. "I thought we should talk," he stated simply. "Your office?"

She glared at him. "Sure, my office."

Sarah slid out of bed, refusing to concede any ground.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he led her back to the royal office.

She sat on the desk, slouching. He stood across from her, head slightly bowed, looking up through his wild hair. For a dead man, he seemed relatively unchanged. They stared at each other in silence.

"So talk," Sarah finally said. Nothing he could say would allow her to forgive him for the abusive emotional rollercoaster she'd ridden the past year.

"You're being a little hostile my dear," he observed, casually studying the tiny changes she'd made to the room. "It doesn't befit a ruler."

She rolled her eyes at him for daring to scold her, and for calling the kettle black.

He merely held her gaze.

Sarah sighed. "Why?" she asked, surprised at how small and vulnerable her voice sounded.

He nodded. For a moment, Sarah thought she really saw the man in him, another being almost like herself. The vision faded. "Simply stated, I found the former Majesterium's corruption intolerable. And being the next in line for the throne anyway…I staged a small coup."

"You lied to me."

He lowered his eyes, betraying a twinge of guilt. "I like to think of my metaphorical death as the Goblin King, since my life is now so completely different, as bending the truth rather than lying."

Sarah leveled him with her harshest glare. No excuse could undue the way she'd overturned her life to take over the kingdom he deserted. He'd abandoned their citizens to a novice ruler, if not abandoned them all together. He'd taken the joy in her life and challenged her dreams. He'd made her distance herself from Toby.

"I thought you would not agree with me." The corners of his mouth rose very slightly as their eyes locked. "In total honesty, I am not sure I believe myself."

"Why?" she asked again, chewing her lower lip. "Why me? Why did you do this to me?"

The old king shrugged. "If I apologized, would you feel any better?"

"No," Sarah replied without thinking, surprised by her spontaneous response. "It's hard sure, harder every day sometimes, but I love this place. I've learned so much…and I think I've started to teach some too." Tears gathered in her eyes at the small improvements she'd started to make. Despite all the torments of monarchy, Sarah knew she could never give it up. At the same time, no other task could ever fulfill all her dreams.

His smile widened. "I thought we were two of a kind that way."

"You didn't answer my question," Sarah observed, starting to enjoy the game despite her anger. At the very least, he made a good sparring partner.

"I knew you would be the best," he said simply.

Smirking, she raised a brow at him.

He might have blushed, for his porcelain pale complexion showed signs of life. She found his discomfort amusing and charming.

"I like to think I continue to learn, improve, and rectify my mistakes. I wanted you back. Another chance. " He paused. "I missed you."

"You could have called…or something."

"Would you have spoken to me?"

Sarah pursed her lips, studying her feet. "I honestly don't know."

Suddenly he was at her side. One finger lifted her chin until she met his strange eyes again. They seemed kinder than she'd ever thought him capable. The shifting colors sparkled and intensified. She felt the smoldering heat of his skin through his thin glove.

"Another mistake on my part then," he murmured.

His breath caressed her face, but this time, he was real: here, warm, and alive. His hands moved to her shoulders, a gentle weight without restraint.

"What?" She couldn't think of anything to say.

"I underestimated you."

She licked her lips. "Are you apologizing to me?"

"Yes," his mouth brushed her forehead, firm yet gentle. "I think I am."


	8. Harmony

AN: Apologies for the long absence. Real life and health has been rather rough. Thanks to those who read, reviewed, and nagged in my absence. Happy new year to all.

Harmony

"I hadn't intended this conversation to progress quite this way," he commented, hours of fire-lit conversation later.

Sarah nodded, enjoying the soft scratch of the rug on the nape of her neck. They lay side by side on the floor, warmed by the glowing hearth and a little fine brandy. The mix of informality and luxury amused her. They did not touch at all, yet through their long conversation and occasional laughter, Sarah felt them drawing closer. Her intense anger was fading. She wasn't sure how she felt about losing her venom, yet she yearned to enjoy the closeness until it had to end. It had to end.

She yawned. "You intended to scold me, didn't you?"

He chuckled. "I already told you, you've been vastly more successful than I expected."

"I don't really feel successful."

"I do not think that monarchs often do."

Sarah wrinkled her nose at him. "You always reeked of success and superiority."

"Tell me more good things about myself," he purred, stretching out on the rug.

She threw a pillow at him. "You're arrogant and self-centered."

"Go on…"

"Extraordinary egotistical, over-inflated, narcissistic…"

"Well my dear…"

"Pompous, haughty, supercilious…"

"I think you're trying too hard Sarah."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Somehow in the long companionable hours by the fire, he'd charmed her away from a far earlier question. Now it burned like the flames licking the hearth. "Why did you do this to me? Tell me really."

"Please, don't tell me 'it isn't fair.'"

"Don't insult me. I'm not playing anymore," she paused, searching his face. "There has to be a reason."

"Would you prefer a lie or the truth?"

"Is an untwisted truth too much to ask for?"

He shook his head.

"Then tell me that. How can you justify making me give up my whole life on your whim? Making me tie myself to this place under false pretense?"

"I like to think I knew it would be best for you. And you would be the best."

"You said that before."

"Maybe I did," he shrugged, but she noticed the tension in his shoulders. "You seem very happy here."

"Except when I'm miserable." Sarah refused to let him think he'd somehow fixed her life. She could have been happy aboveground away from him. "I'm stretched between two or more lives at any given moment!" she snarled. "I have to push people I love away. You've made me suspicious of everyone. And you've made me so alone!"

"Alone?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, tell me."

After keeping the secret so long, the words flooded out. Telling him didn't betray anyone's secrets, and unlike her other confidants, he wouldn't send her for a psychiatric evaluation. "I don't fit anywhere anymore," Sarah sighed. "Not in this world, certainly not in the high court where no one shows their faces, not even in my _supposed_ kingdom, not at school when I'm constantly rushing back here, not a home where I keep everyone at arm's length."

He paused for a long moment. "I did apologize," he said at last.

"But you didn't tell me why."

Sarah studied his face, watching the tiny ticks of muscles beneath the surface. He looked nervous, when he'd always been the epitome of nonchalance. Now, she wondered if he just did whatever he could to mask his own pain. His lip twitched.

She bit her own and rephrased the question. "Why did you pick me? Why did you make me come back?"

He looked at her as he never had before, so that returning his gaze made her eyes tear. "I thought I'd lost the only person I could ever invest myself in," he whispered. "Perhaps try to love."

Those were the last words she'd ever expected to hear him say. "What?"

"I did have to find a successor for the Goblin throne and will someday pass on the Majesterium…" He shook his head as if backtracking, as if he hadn't meant to say it that way. He cleared his throat and took on a more regal, yet warmer, tone. "Since you now have equal enough status with the Majesterium, I wondered if I might have the honor of courting you?" he asked, playing with his role as her sovereign and would-be lover.

"Courting me?" she repeated. Sarah stared at him for a full minute, mouth hanging wide open, before she could find any words. "Do you think I could ever trust you again? After all this deception?"

"Sarah I—"

"No." She jumped to her feet, staring down at him. Sarah wished he'd stand and meet her challenge. "I spent the whole last year realizing that I missed you, that I might have felt something like…and you turn up now expecting me to forgive and accept you?"

"I hoped you would want to explore some of those feelings," he supposed, training his eyes on her feet from the floor. "Any of them at all. Even the anger."

"I'm so lost I don't know what I want from you beyond a little help so I can keep up my GPA while maintaining some sort of foothold in the high court."

He looked up at her and suddenly it didn't matter that he was lying on the rug while she stood over him. "You would have immediate respect if you entered with me Sarah," he promised, raising himself to one knee.

"Pity your little experiment taught me pride in self-sufficiency." Confronted by his vulnerability, she fought the sneer from her face. She hated his proposal of dependency.

"Sarah, I can see the pain in your eyes."

"You put it there," Sarah's lip curled.

He opened his hands, palms up. "Please, let me try to make amends."

"The only thing I want…the only help I can accept from you is purely political."

The old king seemed to decide she wouldn't listen. He nodded, stood, and bowed, face bleak. "Then I will be at your service Majesty."

The cold formality chilled her. Sarah turned away. "I think I'd like to be alone for awhile."

He disappeared without even a hint of glitter, taking all their prior warmth and affability with him. Their absence stung her skin.

.

x x x x

In the fall, Sarah returned to school determined to finish her senior year with a generous helping of advanced Political Science courses before finding a convenient way to disappear into the Underground almost completely. Although her teachers questioned the Biology Major's sudden interest in government her last three semesters, Sarah soon proved an especially diligent student, raised her GPA, and graduated with honors.

Meanwhile, she ran the Goblin Kingdom on a tight rein, with as much humor as she could manage. Her goblins, dare she admit it, adored her enough to keep their mischief to a minimum. She ignored all the summons of the high court during the school year, and felt especially proud of learning a spell that kept a quill moving on her desk like an invisible hand, sorting out her affairs. The high court didn't need her for frivolous parties, which stressed both her mental mettle and her time management. Now a fully recognized sovereign, she saw no need to attend. She made sure to enjoy her final year of college and full-time aboveground life instead.

The Majesterium himself kept his word to the letter and left her alone. Sarah couldn't decide how to feel about that. She replayed their conversation by the fire at least three times a day for that whole year. He'd mentioned love, or at least a potential for that elusive emotion. Sarah only knew that she knew nothing of love. But usually at least one daily replay of their last conversation made her wonder where he was, if he was smiling, and if he thought of her as often as she did of him. She waited for word or a visit that never came. She simultaneously appreciated his respect for her wishes and hated him for ignoring her.

After the fuss of graduation died down and Sarah settled into her kingdom while supposedly on European tour, she decided she might try putting in an appearance at an elite party. She knew she needed to brave tête-à-têtes with the other powers of the underground eventually, which social ties would only facilitate. And since she planned to disappear into the underground, she would need some sort of social interaction to keep her sane.

Now at peace with her royal role, and with her enhanced magic allowing her to see the faces and features of her peers, Sarah found it surprisingly easy to get swept into the banter, the dance, and the party. More surprisingly, her antics at her coronation and subsequent absence seemed to have made her an enigmatic attraction of the court. Instead of shunning her, the nobles sought Sarah. She danced and flirted with tall, dark, men from across the Underground. They wanted to speak of politics, but Sarah steered the conversation away, indoctrinating herself without giving anything away.

The music ended. She bowed to her partner as she had earlier in the evening, but paused when the chattering crowd suddenly fell silent.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. The heat of the touch told her who it was.

"Jareth," she said, turning around.

A gasp and a twitter echoed around the room, but the courtiers, nobles, and rulers disappeared from her world.

He was again the epitome of royal elegance, of conniving, and of power. He once again blended her dreams and her nightmares. She had tried to forget him as anything but her over-lord this past year. Exposed to his presence again, Sarah knew that limiting his presence in her mind was impossible.

He smiled, offering his hand. "It seems you'll dance with everyone but me."

"My former partners say you don't dance at court functions," she taunted, surprised at how easy she felt around him.

"Not since your first visit," he teased, "you asked about me?"

"Just out of curiosity." She flushed and her confidence fled. "You didn't ask."

"I'm asking now." He paused, staring down at her. His eyes pleaded because his voice would not. "Sarah, I find myself with this second chance at living, remaking myself really, and yet my promise to you prevents me from investigating that about which I'm most curious."

His audacity shocked her, both that he'd acknowledge his dubious lies and betrayal, and to admit the opportunity for change so openly. Change of himself, and change for them, together. As Goblin Queen, and Sarah Williams, recent college graduate, she longed for change. He had spoken tentative words of potential before, of a future. And he undeniably intrigued her.

They moved in easy rhythm together, slippers and boots lightly tapping the floor. They did not talk; there was no music. She felt as if their essences mixed together as they had upon their first reunion in the mirror. It hurt to break apart when the dance ended and the music and crowd flared to life again, but Sarah could not trust him, could barely forgive him for stealing her life away to suit his whims. But maybe they were more than whims. He'd said she was the only person he could try to love. She only just realized that he held similar promise for her.

She had to tug on his hand to make him release hers.

"May I call on you?" he whispered in her ear. "May I try to prove myself?"

Sarah closed her eyes. "Yes," she replied, surprised that she did not need to think about her answer. She remembered the day she'd first realized the unlikely, budding compatibility of their souls and the first time she'd mourned his passing. She remembered the slow realization that she could not deny their connection, their attraction. She detested the trickery he used, but he had used it, in a twisted way, for her. "Yes."

Out of the darkness, his hand cupped her chin, and his lips brushed hers—feather light, soft, and reverent. He pulled away before she could move to deepen the kiss.

Sarah opened her eyes, her face still cradled in his palm. His thumb skimmed over her cheek bones. "Thank you for giving me a second chance," Jareth murmured.

Her heart beat fast at the thought of a second chance—a second chance with mutual understanding and opened eyes. "This is your third, and last," she replied.

"Agreed."

Sarah stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him into an embrace of her own, an entwining embrace that finally brought them together, and felt his quiet, hopeful laughter against her mouth.


End file.
